Please remember: This is a long-ass chapter so find a comfortable place to sit, stand, or lie down because this is a rollercoaster ride.

"Y'all are idiots," Namjoon whispers to the men that casually lay in the dark of the couches scattered, moonlight spread into a thousand fragments in the room, coming from the splits of the window frame.

He paced back and forth by the heart that crackled happily against his torment of vexations and words - include the cussing. An expression of anger mixed between annoyance and disbelief he wore.

The princes do not have the courage to come up to him with such anxiety pull to placate him, so they simply watched him pace, a jaguar with no blood and flesh to devour.

His whispered words continued, "Y'all are a bunch of rats, I'd have you exterminated if I could," the words came out raspy and choky in his throat. As he pulled at his hair, at his chest, the shadows created from him behind the wall made him look like a mad scientist that failed once again.

Looking at the men. It was obvious he failed.

Yet daggers shoot at them with a score. They sat silent in the shadows, the fire in the hearth the only light in the dark room.

Burning with flames and feeling them devour him he huffed and sat on the floor, looking grim as anything. He hid his head with a bow, obscuring whatever expression he had.

For a moment he sat silent, no sound infiltrated the room.

"I don't really know what we did wrong," Taehyung spoke up, eyes wide at him. Everyone silently groan, thoughts of smacking him were a bliss to them.

Namjoon inhales - rather harshly and looks up, daggered eye straight at Taehyung who shifted in his seat, realizing the mistake of his words, he gulped. "You had one job," he accused, sweeping his pointy dagger to everyone, "Y'all had one job."

"Yet you got scared of a woman," he continues, standing up over them once again, shadows tainting them again. "A woman!" he scrunched at the incredulity.

His shadow is shaped like a mass of mountain, hunched forward, arms splayed to them as if presenting something easy he had been explaining for hours on end yet they do not have a jot to what it means.

"Because she's scary, I tell you, some things are happening in the castle because of her," Yoongi speaks behind the limbs clasped together - Jimin's hand bound to Hoseok's foot that met at his lap.

Jimin gently massages the tips of Hoseok's toes.

Yoongi shrugs yet there were chills that moved him.

"How could she have gone back? She looked like she had seen-," Hoseok cuts in, a wave of silence plummets about their heads as realizations of the same nature threaded through them.

Every single one of them snaps their head to Jimin who's still massaging the left foot. He feels the stares and looks up, a nonchalant look passes him, quickly hardening to ice.

"Because," he scratches his head and looks into the hearth behind Namjoon, its fire seeming to encourage his next words, "She's not a human. Not like us. Not like anything."

"Then what is she?" Yoongi asks, eyes clouded with dark anticipation.

"She's nothing."

----

In front of you, a large arch of entrance stood, its huge wooden doors shut firmly. You had never seen this before, unlike the other rooms you had encountered this held no decorations, patterns, or embezzlements, no black tears and the like.

"What are you doing?" the voice of Yoongi startles you, pulling you back to your fabricated goody prisoner character.

"Nothing," You turn almost instantly without minding that your movement do not fit your word. He looks at you up and down and looks past you over your shoulder, with little time you notice a bunch of papers hunched in his arms that cross to form a pocket to hold it dear.

He nods to your back, "It's a library, history is kept in there."

And then he dashes off, leaving you once again with your thoughts.

You remember his words.

It's a library, history is kept in there.

Without thinking further you push inside, cold air sweep and mopped your skin, leaving but a fine bliss of raised bumps.

Your eyes almost twinkle at the interior, the door behind you shut with a click, its weight almost non-existent with the sound.

Walls and walls and walls of the large room is filled with elegant shelves and books, there are three stories of shelves that hang, three wooden ladders in each side of the wall stood by the sides, waiting to service a creeping worm to bask in the books.

You were the worm.

Chandeliers hung down the center which held a long table with a lot of chair tucked under them, nothing was of use, everything is kept in place.

Only that, you were the one to disrupt the peaceful silence the library has created.

One step, two steps, three steps turn to a hundred as you scavenge for the easter egg of interest. Touching and gliding your hands to the span of the spines presented out. Some had rough edges, some had bumps, some had the smell of really old paper, like parchment.

This was yours only. For now.

After hours of exploring you had noticed every single title is written alphabetically, starting from the east to the west.

With exhaustion raining on your head as the books were too much you take a seat at the large table.

Cicas.

An idea pops in your head, although you do not know if it's good. You stand with a scrape of the floor and start from the rows of letter A's and then B's and then, at last, C's.

You start at the ladder, moving down and down as you eliminate those without Ci's, hands running along the spines to indicate where you are, until you land on a book.

Cicas.

Written in fancy letters. Book cover white. Fonts gold.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you pull the book out. It was thin, there was nothing interesting about it aside from the knowledge of the word Cicas.

You pull open the cover, your fingers beating like a drum underneath the book.

Cicas. a traveler.

In other words. A transporter.

To next page:

A Cicas is a creature of excess, it is a creature of nothing. It travels through time and worlds.

To indicate if one is a Cicas, one must have a symbol of houses. A usual is a capital letter embedded on the skin.

These creatures are unwanted by the universe, they are a mistake of a large clash in the universe.

*This book must be burned as order of The Ministry of Harpo.

The book drops to the floor with a thud, the world seemed to be spinning. The words were comical in a way it was degradetory.

The worth of this creature does not even equal to a publication of a full book so this thin book is a miracle against their abomination.

You remember now, the world you had entered to which was not your home and the beautiful woman that spoke a little strange.

You remember now every single thing that happened to you, Jimin, the king, the princes, this kingdom, this cruel curse. Everything was connected to your identity.

Your stomach gurgles at that. You weren't merely nothing, you're Y/N, you're not a creature, you have a family.

"You're not Y/N."

But if Jimin, your teasing and stupid brother belonged to this wicked world and he was a prince, then how much more is your life a lie?

Cold sweat had dripped down your forehead to your chin, your clammy back underneath your shirt did not do so as comfort you. You feel as though you were bare and naked.

You cannot accept this.

With trembling hands you pick the book up from the ground, opening a page with fear of what you may see. Surely, something will confirm that what this book is claiming of your identity will pop out.

The page opened and said:

A List of the Abilities of a Cicas.

There was long list, indeed, but there was one particular bullet that stopped you from your dreading read.

-Sees souls, spirits departed from bodies. Some that wait to rise or fall.

You push the book back to its place, climbing up the steps as if there was fire beneath your feet. The book slid satisfying in its place.

You climb down and amble to get yourself out of here, with clouded mind you hadn't realized you took the long way to get to the exit which is going around to meet the letter Z of the organization. Your running feet is the only thing keeping you sane as it disrupted the empty silence of the library.

You were halfway along when in the middle of the room, which is the center side of the wall of books, a black stand held a black book. It was odd for it was sole in its existence.

Your running feet skid to a stop, mesmerized by the beauty of the shade of black. Upon closer look at it the title 'Black' with a golden font stood out against the color. It seems to be telling something, urging you to open.

Succumbing to your inner battle you flip the cover, hoping to only take a peek but what's inside betrayed you of your promise to yourself.

Black. a curse of a magistrate. the curse of hopelessness and despair to the rulers of the Kingdom of Emberose and to the kingdom itself.

The bearer of the curse must not engage with hope, love, and fear for these beat the heart to energy that results to destruction.

Exothermic. reactions that release energy - heat. Those that dwindle upon hope will spark with blissful flame and spread burning wildfire to those that come in its way.

*The burning of this book will account as a retaliation to the law, as order of the Ministry of Harpo.

Exothermic. Burning. Fire.

"Y/N!" A distant voice called out, the voice was familiar and it was strained with chokes.

Sarah.

You turn, and surely, the orange-dressed girl is there, running to you as if her life depended upon you.

She stops to maintain distance. The book an audience at the bemusing thing that is about to happen.

Her eyes were swollen red, tears staining her cheeks so that the running surface was tight. She grasped your hand, her skin cold as always, she pulls you towards the way out.

"Help me," she cried out, pulling with such force it alarms you. You had never seen her like this, extreme with panic. Confusion struck you, daylight loomed by dark grey clouds.

"My parents are trapped in a burning house!" her words bloomed bruises across her soul with pain, thorns and edges confronting each other to a makeshift heart of pain that starts a wilful button into a growing mass of edging pain.

Pain of loss and of grief.

Suddenly, everything clears up, from her story of fire to the hateful identity you have discovered. Everything lines up neatly, stacked against each other into fits that have been molded to fit their shapes. It is close, only close for you to reach and read its contents, yet you fear of what it may let out, of what new life it may curse upon you.

Then, you remember the night you were supposed to go back to your home, the time a crack had split open something in front of you, where cobalt-rimmed gold color shone like the reflection of your soul, and a hand that reached out to gently caress your face.

You realize with a halt, a tug at her hand, a tear on your face the small detail your soul must have been reaching out to you.

That you have gone far, too far, too far to the dead end which is this. Now, you must go forward.

Sarah looks up at you, sweat and tears coating the delicate skin of hers. The sweet fox features of her waning to a cub.

You glide down and kneel, aligning your heads and heights. You look into her eyes, grasping both her shoulders and yielding her to face you.

"I can't help you," you say with finality, a hush whisper of your breaking chest running along the falls and rise of your notes - even though it was said straightly, as if a boring and tired song you ought to finish.

"Why?" she sobs, her predicament of the situation growing more and more as she wails with hysterics, voice cracking underneath.

"Because you're dead," your face is brimming with tears, and there was a clear reflection of you to her and her to you. She hiccups, stops abruptly and looks at you, eyes wide and stained with the black color of hopelessness and pain.

"What do you mean?" she asks, confusion ebbing into her.

You close your eyes, feeling your eyes shut away the tears that form into beads as they disperse and fall on your cheeks in a sheen.

"You parents were long gone, your soul remained because you had things to do in this world," you say, opening your eyes as the words left with reluctance.

Silently as she looked on with shock, cheeks flared, eyes bright, you let your head fall upon her left shoulder. There is no beat under her skin, there is no warmth, there is no smell, and there is no life, all there was was the feel of her skin.

"Now, you must go, you are free," and then you kiss her neck, a good-bye gift that melds into her soul. Before she could utter something she was vanishing in the air, limb by limb turning to swirls of color of human and soul, until she was gone, until there was nothing in the space but you and your arms set up in the air in an awkward way.

You knew something she didn't; Time was running out.

You put your arms down not until you notice a black figure with the same clothes is stood just behind of what Sarah's position have been.

"I see, you have found out a little thing," he says, arms behind his back, looking at you with neither confusion nor stupor. He stood as if he knew everything, saw everything.

Until his eyes change to cold ice, that black eyes of his watching you intently.

It was a familiar wall you had crashed into a lot of times, now the pain of the collide has numbed you to a near tickle. You smiled bitterly, feeling the tears teem in your eyes, warning of a burst.

"It was your fault! Because of you a child as small as her suffers, because of your damned world!" you burst out. He doesn't even flinch, doesn't even blink, he just looks at you with amusement.

"You know what you are?" you step closer to him, bridging the gap of the ground between you two. "A monster," the words were drawled and whispered, taken by the air with a sharp sting. But the sting never quite reached the man, for he stood mighty, like your words were nothing but a rotten tooth against rock.

No scrape on his surface has been inflicted. He simply watched you, eyes open yet emotions caged, hidden behind that dark canvas of his.

You wonder if it has lost its way back to its real home.

A familiar dark cloud formed above your head, forming lightnings that prick and kill.

The situation was too much, too much for you to handle. You turn on your heels, expecting to storm away and deal with the aftermath of your storm tomorrow.

Your body is strained, worn out from the maddening repression of limiting you to nothing in this big house - there wasn't any justification to call it home, the people here did not have a life, did not eat, did not sleep, they are only puppeteers with strings attached on their backs and limbs.

Sadly, you are caught in between this chaos of filth and unticking time.

Until, he speaks, stopping you in your tracks, hands a scant inch to the surface of the knob. You put your hand down, dropping it like a heavy sack, with it came the ministrations and yield.

"Yes, I am a monster," he speaks, you turn to him only to see him on the same spot last. He looks up at you, eyes wielding a sharp sword that will fight you to pieces. "But I prefer my monster to yours, to anything that is nothing."

He held up a flag of danger and malice, a restraining order of your limited parts.

"Good, it makes two of us," your smile is wan, tired and stressed, but there is fire breathing behind your words, alive and hot.

Without a second to pass in that room you swing the door open.

Never forgetting the clenched fist of the man as you left.

"There are monsters much worse, one of it is hypocrisy."

----

UNEDITED.

This was long because I wanted to make up to the missed times I should've published the next chapters.

I'm sorry if these two chapters weren't as good as the others, these were written in the fastest time I have ever written two chapters, I guess that's an achievement lmao.

I hope you are enjoying. If you do have questions I will gladly answer you.

Please stay tuned for the next chapters.

SPOILER**

What do you do when you have done someone wrong?

You apologize.

But, is it the case for everyone?